Midnight Falcon

Chapter Ten

'Can I count on your support?' Jasaray asked Bendegit Bran, as the two met for the last time, on the steps of the Imperial Palace. Fiallach was waiting with the horses and the ten-man Honour Guard that was to accompany them to the city gates.

'I have much enjoyed our visit, Majesty,' said Bran, 'and it was a great privilege to meet you. I thank the gods that you survived the assassination attempt, and am honoured that it was a Rigante warrior who aided you on that fateful night. I shall report faithfully to my king everything you have said, and it is my hope that the days of enmity between our peoples are at an end.'

Jasaray took his arm and walked with him down the steps. 'Wars are sometimes necessary, and often inevitable,' said the emperor. 'But Stone has enemies far closer to home than Connavar of the Rigante. Tell him this. And assure him of my good wishes.'

Bran bowed, then stepped into the saddle. Fiallach also bowed. Jasaray looked into the warrior's eyes. 'I think you will be glad to be heading home,' he said. 'I fear that city life does not suit you.'

'I have a longing for the mountains,' admitted Fiallach.

'Caer Druagh is said to be very beautiful,' said Jasaray.

'If you visit us, as a friend, I will take you riding in the countryside, the high woods and the valleys,' promised Fiallach.

'That would be most pleasant,' said Jasaray.

Bran touched heels to his mount and they rode slowly from the palace, the silver-clad Honour Guard marching behind them. An hour later they cleared the gates, and took the horses into a light run across the western hills. Drawing rein at the top Bendegit Bran gazed back at the city of Stone.

'You look troubled, my friend,' said Fiallach.

'Indeed I am. War is coming, Fiallach.'

'But Jasaray said-'

'It doesn't matter what he said. He acts like a scholar and a man longing for peace. But he lives for war and conquest. I knew it when we saw the tiger in his gardens. Can you imagine at what cost they caught the beast and transported it thousands of miles? And for what? So that Jasaray could send it into the arena to be killed for sport, so that the mob of Stone could glimpse more blood. Is this the act of a scholar? No, he has won in the east and destroyed his enemies at home. Now he will seek to win the mob's approval with a war against the only enemy ever to have defeated a Stone army.'

'But what about his talk of King Shard, and his growing army? Surely Shard is a greater danger to Stone. He wouldn't have to cross the sea to fight Jasaray. His armies could march into Stone territory within days.'

'Indeed they could,' agreed Bran. 'But it is my belief that Jasaray and Shard have made an alliance. Come the spring, Shard will invade in the north, Jasaray in the south. We will have a war on two fronts.'

Swinging his horse, Bran headed west.

Fiallach rode after him. He respected Bran more than any other man, save perhaps Connavar. Bran was more than a general, and even the king deferred to him on matters of strategy and tactics. His mind was sharper than daggers, his skills in battle almost mystical. Connavar often said that Bran could read a battle the way other men read simple script.

'It is a shame that the Bastard saved him,' said Fiallach, as they angled their mounts down the slope and onto the wide western road.

Bran glanced at the giant warrior. 'Bane's act was heroic. I can't fault him for that.'

'I can,' said Fiallach, with feeling. 'He is no good, Bran. Born of treachery, he carries it in his blood.'

'I have heard this argued of bastards before,' said Bran, 'and I do not believe it. Bane carries the blood of Connavar in his veins. By Taranis, he even looks like him! He has courage and strength, and he deserved better than the treatment my brother gave him. It saddens me that you hate him so.'

'I do not wish to hear you criticize Connavar,' said Fiallach, anger creeping into his voice.

'Kings are not beyond criticism, my friend. In truth, I also blame myself. I should have gone to Conn a long time ago and argued Bane's case. I did not. And it shames me. My father raised me to believe that love of family was the first duty of a Rigante. I have lived by that with my own children. Bane is my nephew, and I should have embraced him as such.'

'He would have spurned you,' said Fiallach sadly, 'as he spurned me. When he was a youngster – around thirteen, I think – I sent him an invitation to come to Seven Willows and spend the summer with us. He wrote me an insulting reply. That insult alone shows his nature. He'll get no second chance from me.'

'That is curious,' said Bran, 'for Brother Solstice told me that Bane never could master reading and writing. It seems odd that he should have written to you.'

'Well, he didn't actually write it,' said Fiallach. 'Braefar wrote telling me what Bane had said. But it is the same. He said he had no wish to spend any time in my company, and did not regard me as family. Had he been a man then, and not some callow boy, I would have killed him for his impertinence.'

Bran shook his head. 'It never ceases to surprise me how often Braefar's name figures in misunderstandings, disagreements and quarrels.'

'You think he lied to me? That is ridiculous! What would be the point?'

'I cannot answer that,' said Bran. 'I have never understood it. There is a deep well of bitterness in him, and I think he takes pleasure in creating the same bitterness in others. It is like a game to him. I'll tell you truly, Fiallach, I do not know what Bane might have said, and it could be that Braefar reported it truthfully. It is just that I have come to view my brother and his motives with great suspicion.'

'I think you do him an injustice,' said Fiallach. 'He has always been most courteous to me. His only complaint has been that Connavar does not offer him work more suited to his talents. Braefar is a clever man, but he commands no regiments, and is restricted to running Three Streams and the border lands with the Norvii.'

'I am glad that you like him,' said Bran. 'Let us leave it at that.'

Bane's mood was sombre as he sat in the Sword Room beneath Circus Palantes. Telors was close by, gently honing the edge of the Rigante's gladius. A towering figure moved into the doorway. For a moment Bane thought it was Rage, for the light of a powerful lantern was behind him. The man stepped inside and Bane saw it was Brakus, Gladiator One. He glanced up at the golden-haired man. Brakus moved past him to a locked cabinet on the far wall, took a key from the pocket of his leather jerkin and inserted it into the lock. Bane saw him remove two leather-covered flasks and a small scroll wrapped in ribbon. He was a big man, larger than Rage, but he moved with the same cat-like grace.

He made to leave, but Telors spoke up. 'Ignoring old friends, are we now, Brak?'

The gladiator paused, then grinned. 'By heavens, Telors, when did you grow that disgusting foliage? I remember when you were young and handsome.'

Telors chuckled and the two men shook hands. 'I heard you and Vanni were training the Occian fighters. You've done a good job.'

'It's good to be back,' said Telors. 'I thought you'd be retired by now. You must have a mountain of gold already.'

Brakus shrugged. 'I keep promising myself that each fight will be the last. But then some arrogant young fighter steps out of the shadows, telling me I'm old and how he's going to kill me. Pride takes over then.' He looked across at Bane. 'You want to tell me how old and tired I look, boy?' he asked.

'You look strong and fit to me,' said Bane.

Brakus nodded. 'Indeed I am. Tell me, what made you want to take this bout? You're famous enough without it, and Voltan will prove no easy meat.'

'It is personal,' put in Telors. 'Voltan killed a friend of his – a woman.'

'Oh, I see. Well, good luck to you, Bane. Perhaps we'll meet again.'

'I doubt it,' said Bane. 'This is my last fight. Tomorrow I'm heading for home.'

Brakus smiled. 'Then all my notes on you will be wasted.' He walked to the doorway, then turned. 'You have a habit of clenching your left fist before an attack. Voltan will spot that quickly.'

'Thank you. It is a habit Rage has warned me of. I can't seem to lose it.'

'Voltan is very fast on the riposte. Lose that habit today, or you won't be going home.' He swung to Telors. 'Good to see you, my friend. I'm having a small gathering to celebrate my birthday in three days. Come up to the house. Bring Vanni with you.'

'I'll do that,' said Telors. Brakus left and Telors went back to honing the blade.

'I thought Rage would come,' said Bane.

'Aye, well, you know what he thinks.'

'I know. He thinks I'm going to die. He's wrong.'

'He's been wrong before. We all have.' Telors glanced at the marked candle on the shelf, and gauged the time. 'Less than an hour before the fight. How do you feel?'

'I'm fine.' Bane sat and gazed around the room. It was a far cry from the Sword Room at Circus Orises. Brightly painted frescoes adorned the walls, and there were niches inset, carrying busts of the greatest heroes of Palantes. Bane scanned them. 'Where is Rage?' he asked.

'Palantes removed the bust when Rage was disgraced.'

Bane settled back. Before a fight he had never had difficulty emptying his mind of all other worries, but today was different. Memories and thoughts crowded him, each vying for attention.

Suppose he were to die today, who would care? His friend Banouin had deserted him, his father had never acknowledged him, and now Rage had not even turned up to watch him face his toughest test. He glanced at Telors. He liked the man, but they were not close. If Bane's body was dragged from the arena, Telors would shrug and go back to the villa, have a few drinks, say nice things about him, and get on with his life.

Suddenly Bane felt alone, and in that moment fear began to grow inside him. What have I done with my life? he wondered. What have I achieved? He shook his head. These were not good thoughts before a death duel and he rose and moved to the table, lifting a leather-covered flask and breaking the wax seal to pull forth the cork. All the gladiators prepared their own drinks, sealing them with wax so that no competitor could drug them before a bout. Lifting it to his lips he drank deeply. The crushed-fruit drink slipped down his throat like silk. 'Not too much,' said Telors. 'You won't want to be bloated.'

Bane sat back down. He had dreamt last night that the Morrigu came to him. He had awoken to the rustling of the wind through leaves, and the whispering of branches. Sitting up he saw that his bed was now in the middle of a small clearing, surrounded by oaks. The Morrigu was sitting upon a tree stump.

'Satin sheets,' she said. 'How rich you have become.' A black crow swooped over the bed and settled on a branch close to the Morrigu.

'What do you want of me?' he had asked.

'Considering the foolishness you are engaged upon I think it more apt to ask what you might require of me.'

Bane rose from the bed and took a deep breath. He could smell the cool air flowing from the mountains. 'I would have wished only one thing from you, Old Woman. I would have wished to save Lia's life. Now there is nothing. I will win tomorrow or I will die.'

'Yes, yes,' she said, 'you could not save your love. Life can be like that, Bane. But what of your own life? If you ask me I will grant you the strength and speed you need to defeat Voltan.'

'I already have that.'

'No, you don't. Vanni told you that. Voltan is bigger, stronger and faster. He is more deadly. Ask me!'

'No!'

'Is it pride that stops you?'

He had thought about the question. 'Perhaps it is, but I won't use magic against him. I want no help. I will face him as a man on equal terms.'

'How noble,' she said. 'Do you believe for a moment that Voltan would do the same?'

'I am not responsible for what Voltan does – or does not – do. I want him to pay for Lia's death, and to know that is what he is dying for.'

'And what will this achieve, Bane? Do you think he will care? Do you think that it will create in him the merest speck of remorse?'

Bane shook his head. 'It is not about him. It is about me. When I have killed him I will know peace.'

'Ah, I see. It is all about Bane. Not about Lia, or the evil of Voltan. Just Bane.'

'Yes it is about Bane,' he said angrily. 'And why should that not be so? Who has ever fought for me? I have always been alone. I loved my mother, and I think she loved me when I was a child. But, as I grew, every time she looked at me she saw Connavar. And she withdrew from me.' He laughed, the sound hollow, causing the crow to flap its wings. 'Where are my friends and loved ones? The one friend I thought I had deserted me when he thought me dying. Yes, it is indeed about Bane. If I die tomorrow, who will mourn for me?'

'Who indeed?' she answered. 'Well, if I am not needed I shall not remain. Return to your bed, Rigante. Sleep.'

It had been a curious dream, born no doubt of his fears, but it haunted him still.

'Time to loosen those muscles,' said Telors.

Two soldiers in silver armour moved into the Sword Room. 'The emperor commands your presence,' the first told Bane.

'He needs preparation time,' said Telors.

'Come with us,' said the second man, ignoring Telors.

Bane pulled on a shirt of black silk and followed the guards through the underground corridors and up a flight of steps to the second level. Out in the open he glanced around and saw that the stadium was full, rank upon rank of citizens waiting for the afternoon's entertainment. Circus Palantes could seat almost thirty thousand people, but hundreds more were standing in the aisles.

'Big crowd,' said the first guard.

'Don't get too swell-headed,' said the second, 'they've mostly come to see the Veiled Lady burn. They're wondering if she'll work a miracle and fly away into the sky.' He gave a harsh laugh. 'Some hope.'

'I thought all the Cultists had been freed,' said Bane.

'Not her. She'll be burning alongside Nalademus. Good joke, eh? Wonder what they'll have to say to one another as they're raised up above the pyres?'

The guards moved on, climbing to the third level and the guarded entrance to the Royal Enclosure. As Bane was ushered inside he saw Jasaray sitting alone. The emperor was wearing a white robe and a long purple cloak. Upon his head was a wide-brimmed hat of woven straw, shielding his face from the sun. 'Come in and sit, my boy,' said Jasaray.

'I thank you, Majesty,' said Bane, 'but I must prepare for my fight.'

'All in good time,' he said.

At the edge of the arena a trumpeter sent out a long, single note. The crowd settled down. From the western end of the arena a swordsman stepped from the gate, advancing across the sand.

The crowd booed and jeered. Bane looked down, and could scarcely believe what he was seeing.

The swordsman was Voltan.

'I must go, Majesty!' he said.

'Wait!' commanded Jasaray.

'But I am to fight him. You promised!'

'Indeed I did, young man. And I keep my promises. However, I did not promise that you could fight him first.'

The gate at the eastern end of the stadium opened, and another swordsman made his way across the sand. Stripped to the waist and wearing a leather kilt he drew a red silk scarf from his belt and tied it over his bald head.

It was Rage.

At first Bane could not believe what he was seeing. 'Why?' he whispered.

'I wondered that myself when Rage first asked me,' said Jasaray. 'It was the night of the tiger. I had told you both you could ask of me anything. Rage stayed behind and said that he wanted to be the first to fight Voltan. Then, the following day, you came to me. That is when I had my answer. I think you know it too.'

Bane felt sick. Leaning forward he gripped the rail above the enclosure balcony. Yes, he knew. Rage was doing this for him. And the older man's words flowed back into his mind in letters of fire.

'You never had a father, and I never had a son. I think, in some small way, we have filled a gap in each other's lives. Like any father I do not want to see my son die needlessly.'

Shame swept over the younger man. His selfish desire for personal vengeance had put at risk the only man who had truly befriended him. His mind swam with the enormity of the moment, and all the bitterness and self-pity of his youth began to melt away, the rejections and the loneliness, the hurts and the disappointments. All became as nothing compared to the sacrifice this man was making for him. Rage knew Bane could not beat Voltan, and knew also that, old as he was, he could wear the man down, tiring him, perhaps wounding him, before his duel with Bane, giving the younger man a greater chance of survival.

'I didn't want this,' said Bane.

'I expect not,' agreed Jasaray, 'but it is a magnificent gesture.'

There was pride in his voice, pride and a note of astonishment, as if, though sensing the greatness, he could not quite understand the motive.

The emperor rose, removed his straw hat, and waved it in the air. A trumpet sounded and the two fighters touched swords in salute. Then they circled. Voltan attacked first with terrifying speed, but Rage blocked and parried, sending a riposte that forced Voltan to leap back. The crowd fell silent as the two men fought on. Few among the thirty thousand could appreciate fully the level of skill they were observing, but all knew they were watching two extraordinary fighters. They sensed that this epic duel would go down in history, and that in years to come they would tell their children and grandchildren of the day they saw Voltan and Rage duel to the death in the arena of Circus Palantes.

Bane watched the fight, caught between amazement and horror. Rage had been right. He could not have beaten this man. For all his size Voltan moved with awesome speed. His footwork was perfect, keeping him always in balance, whether leaping to attack or defending desperately. The pace of the fight was almost inhuman, the two men locked in a combat that was almost a dance. Bane watched unblinking, his breathing shallow and fast. His mouth was dry, his knuckles white as he clenched the rail. Whatever happened today, he knew he would be changed for ever by Rage's sacrifice. Never again would he complain about life and its unfairness. On this one hot afternoon he had been given a gift worth more than all the hurts he had ever suffered.

Voltan's sword sliced across Rage's chest, sending a spray of blood into the air. Bane groaned, the sound swamped by a great cry from the crowd. Voltan leapt in for the kill. The old gladiator swayed to the right. His blade lashed out. Voltan threw himself back, but not before Rage's sword had ripped open a wound above his right hip. The two men circled more warily now. Rage had been cut across the top of his chest, underneath the right collar bone, the blood streaming down over his belly. Voltan's wound was also bleeding heavily, staining his kilt and flowing to his thigh. The two men came together again, blades clanging and clashing. As they closed Voltan suddenly threw a punch that caught Rage on the temple, knocking him back a step. Rage rolled with the blow, and managed to parry a disembowelling thrust. They circled again.

The fight was less furious now, more measured as each man sought out a weakness in the other. It was no less tense, and the crowd was unnaturally silent. For Bane it was as if time had slowed. He stared at Voltan, trying to see a weakness, a tell, anything that would indicate an opening for Rage. But there was nothing. Voltan was the most complete fighter he had ever seen.

And Rage was tiring. Despite his fitness, and the endless hours of exercise that created it, age was beginning to tell now. Voltan could see it too, and slowly the fight became more cat and mouse. Voltan blocked a sudden lunge, and his riposte cut Rage's shoulder. Another attack saw Rage almost stumble. Voltan's sword snaked out, the blade glancing from Rage's temple as he threw himself aside. Blood was on the older man's face now.

Voltan tried a feint, followed by a lunge to the heart. Rage parried it, and sent a return cut that struck Voltan's left bicep, slicing open the skin. Suddenly the pace picked up again, both men hacking and slashing, blocking and moving. Bane knew Voltan was seeking to exhaust his tiring opponent. And he was succeeding. Rage's sword arm did not have the same speed as before, and Voltan's blade found a way through, stabbing the older man in the left shoulder. Rage backed away. Bane could see his great chest heaving as he sucked in air. Voltan, though bleeding profusely, did not seem to be suffering.

A commotion began in the stands to the right of the Royal Enclosure. Bane glanced round, to see Telors pushing people out of the way and clambering over a low wall and grabbing a large padded drumstick from a surprised drummer. Hoisting the huge drum to the wall Telors began a slow, steady beat that boomed like distant thunder around the arena.

Out on the sand the two fighters paused momentarily as the drum sounded.

Voltan was more tired than he appeared. His years as a Stone Knight had been wonderfully fulfilling, but an arena duel needed the kind of specialist training he had not undertaken for years. His sword arm felt heavy. His opponent was even more weary, however, and Voltan would at least take pleasure in killing him. He had always wondered how good Rage really was. Now he knew, and, deep down, he was glad they had not fought earlier. The old man's reflexes were surprisingly sharp, as was the speed of his counters.

The sun was high and hot, and a heat haze was rising from the sand. Voltan circled the older man. 'What made you want to fight me?' he asked. Rage did not reply. 'Too weary to talk, old man?' sneered Voltan. Rage merely smiled. Irritated, Voltan leapt to the attack. Rage parried. Voltan struck out with his left fist. Rage swayed away from the blow and thundered a left hook into Voltan's jaw. Voltan rolled with the blow and spun away as Rage's gladius hissed through the air. As Rage rushed in for the kill Voltan parried a thrust and lunged. The blade struck Rage's belt buckle and glanced away.

'Lucky, lucky!' said Voltan, seeking to unsettle his opponent. But Rage remained focused, not bothering to reply. In his movement, however, there was a growing exhaustion. 'Not much strength left now, Rage,' said Voltan. 'How does it feel to know you are going to die?'

Still no response, and Voltan began to feel a growing irritation. He had always found a way to unsettle opponents, to make them rash, or careless, to dismantle their concentration. But not Rage. It was as if he was fighting a statue made flesh, a creature without feelings or emotions.

Even so, Voltan was winning. It was just a question of time. As they circled he noted that Rage's sword was a little lower than before, as if its weight was dragging it down. The old man was also breathing heavily. 'Perhaps you should rest a little,' said Voltan conversationally. 'Step back and catch your breath.' As he spoke he attacked, almost taking Rage by surprise. The old man's sword came up more slowly than before, and Voltan's blade slid by it, glancing off Rage's ribs and ripping the skin. Rage spun on his heel, turning full circle, and lashed out. Voltan only partly blocked the cut and the blade sliced the flesh of his shoulder. He leapt back. Rage did not follow up his attack and Voltan grinned as he realized the old man had come, at last, to the end of his strength.

Then the drum sounded. Voltan blinked and glanced to the crowd, locating the black-bearded Telors.

As the beats sounded out, the crowd, knowing of Rage's legend, began to clap their hands in time to the booming drum. Voltan returned his attention to Rage, and saw that the old gladiator was standing straighter now, and in his dark eyes there was a gleam where before there had been only weariness. Voltan swore. It was going to take longer to kill the old bastard now.

Rage took one deep breath, then advanced. 'Cara sends her love,' he said softly, his voice friendly and warm.

For a moment only Voltan froze. Then Rage was upon him. Voltan parried desperately, but Rage's sword tore into his belly, ripping up through a lung and out through his back. Voltan sagged against Rage, letting go of his sword and resting his head on his killer's shoulder.

'Clever… move,' he whispered.

'It needed to be, boy,' said Rage, lowering him to the ground.

The crowd erupted in applause, and a burst of cheering filled the stadium.

'I… think… they're glad to see me die.' Voltan forced a smile. 'You should… get those wounds stitched.'

'I'll wait awhile,' said Rage.

Voltan lay quietly for a moment. There was no pain, and he felt curiously at peace. 'Does… Cara… know about me?' he asked.

'No. Nor will she. She's a fine girl though, strong, courageous and loyal. Any man would be proud to be her father.'

'I would have been… had I known.'

Voltan's head rolled to the side. He found himself staring at the two execution stakes erected at the centre of the arena, rising like spikes from mounds of oil-soaked brushwood.

'She forgave me,' he whispered. But Rage did not hear him.

Bane sagged against the railing as Rage rose from beside the dead Voltan. The old gladiator raised his sword in salute to the emperor, then strode from the arena, thunderous applause ringing in his ears. Slaves ran out to grab the dead Voltan's heels and drag his body across the sand.

From the far end of the arena came a troop of soldiers, leading out two figures. The first was Nalademus. As he saw the stake he began to struggle, throwing himself to the ground. Soldiers hauled him up and dragged him towards the pyres. He screamed and shouted, and the crowd jeered.

A little way back came the Veiled Lady. She was small, and slim, her pale blue dress gleaming with oil. Two soldiers were holding her bare arms, but she did not struggle, and walked with her veiled head held high.

'Burn them! Burn them! Burn them!' chanted the crowd.

'I suppose', said Jasaray, 'that I should offer you another wish, since Rage has robbed you of your revenge. Ask and it shall be given to you. You want Voltan's estates, or other lands. Chests of gold perhaps.'

Bane was staring down into the arena. 'I'll take her,' he said softly. 'Give me her life.'

'What? You know her?'

'No.'

'Then think again, Bane. She is the heart of these Cultists, and if I pardon her there will be a riot.'

'You said I could ask anything, Majesty,' Bane reminded him.

Jasaray's face hardened. 'At this moment I am your friend, Bane. Emperors are good friends to have. If you persist in this, you will become my enemy, and there will be no place for you in Stone or any of the lands of Stone. Why make me your enemy for a woman you do not know?'

Bane stared down at the woman, and listened to the baying of the crowd. While Nalademus screamed and begged, she merely stood, shoulders back, aloof and proud, the jeering of the crowd washing over her. 'She has courage,' he said softly. 'And, with all due respect, Majesty, I think her life is worth far more than your friendship.'

Jasaray rose from his seat and walked to the balcony's edge. The guards holding the prisoners were waiting for his signal. He pointed to the woman, beckoning the guards to bring her forward. He swung to Bane, his expression calm, but his eyes angry. 'Go down and collect your prize,' he said. 'You have two days to leave Stone – never to return.'

Bane bowed and walked from the enclosure.

In the arena Nalademus was dragged screaming to the stake. Bane ran down the aisle to the lowest level, climbed over the wall and leapt the twelve feet to the arena floor. He approached the guards holding the woman. 'The emperor has granted her freedom,' he said. The guards glanced up at the tall, stooping figure of Jasaray, who nodded to them. Instantly they released the arms of the Veiled Lady.

A single trumpet sounded, and the flames were lit beneath Nalademus. His terrible cries were pitiful, and the crowd hooted and yelled abuse at him. The Veiled Lady turned towards the tortured man and raised her hand. The Stone elder's head came up and he stared through the rising smoke at the frail woman in blue. His screams ceased, and he rested his head back against the stake. Rising plumes of smoke covered him.

'What did you do?' whispered Bane.

'I took away his pain,' said the woman.

Without his cries of agony there was no entertainment for the crowd, and they began to shout for the Veiled Lady's death. Bane took her arm and led her across the sand towards the gate to the Sword Room. Her clothes were slick with lantern oil, the smell sweet and pungent. She walked silently beside him, saying nothing. Once the mob realized she was not going to burn they began to yell and scream. A fight broke out in the western stand. Soldiers moved in to quell it. Seats were ripped from the stone, and someone hurled a cushion at the Royal Enclosure. More and more soldiers poured into the stands. Bane reached the Sword Room and ushered the Veiled Lady inside.

Rage was sitting there, a surgeon stitching his wounds. His face was grey, and he was holding a blood-covered towel to the wound in his chest. The Veiled Lady moved to his side. Taking the towel from him she dropped it to the floor, then laid her slim hand upon the bleeding gash in his chest. The wound closed instantly. The surgeon stood by astonished, for where there had been an open cut, bleeding profusely, there was now a long white scar, perfectly healed. She did the same for the cut on his temple and the wound in his shoulder. As Bane watched he saw the colour return to Rage's cheeks.

'I thank you,' said Rage, taking her hand and kissing it.

'And I thank you, Vanni,' she said, 'for without your sacrifice I would have burned.' She turned slowly towards Bane and lifted her veil.

He gasped and almost fell back. 'Sweet heaven!' he whispered. His limbs began to tremble and shake, and he sank onto a bench seat.

The Veiled Lady was Lia.

The door burst open and Telors ran in, followed by the gladiator Brakus. 'There is a riot outside,' said Telors. 'Mobs are gathered at every exit. They are shouting for her death. And the soldiers have been withdrawn.'

Rage heaved himself to his feet and reached for his sword. 'There will be no need of weapons,' said Lia. 'Trust me!' Rage stood still for a moment, then turned his attention to Bane, who was sitting slumped on the bench.

'Are you all right, boy?'

Bane ignored him, and stared straight at the young woman in the glistening robes. 'I saw you die,' he said. 'I saw his sword cleave your heart.'

Lia sat beside him, taking his hand. 'I remember being stabbed by Voltan, and then my eyes opening in a wagon. The surgeon, Ralis, was beside me. The next face I recall was of an old woman, hooded and veiled. It was a dream. We were walking in a forest, a place of exquisite beauty. There was someone else there, a shining figure, whose face I could not see. The shining figure reached out and touched the wound above my heart. The wound healed, and I felt something flowing into my veins. It was as if all my life I had been a dry well, and now the water of life was filling me. When next I woke I was in the house of Ralis, and he told me that the old woman had come to the Death House and saved me.'

'Why did you not come to me?' he asked, gripping her hand tightly.

'Ralis told me you had been killed. Two days later I boarded a ship for Goriasa. When next I heard of you it was as a killer in the arena, a man of blood. We took different paths, Bane. When I saw my father killed I wanted an end to violence, and set out to achieve it. When you saw me struck down you wanted blood and vengeance and death.'

'I love you,' said Bane, tears in his eyes. 'I have thought of you every day since last we met.'

'And I love you. Nothing will change that.'

'Then you will come with me to the mountains, as first we planned?'

She did not answer at first, and in the silence Bane knew that he had lost her a second time. 'I cannot be a wife to a man of blood. I will continue my work,' she said. 'Not in Stone, for another has taken my place. But I shall journey and preach. I shall find people who yearn for the spirit, and I will share with them the joys I have learned.'

'I tried to save you,' said Bane. 'I just was not strong enough then.'

'You did save me,' she whispered. 'I am sorry, Bane. I am sorry for both of us.'

Moving to his side she put her arms around him. He drew her in and kissed her cheek. 'Where will you go?' he asked.

To the far north. There is a tribe there who dwell in the White Mountains. I will bring the Source to them.'

'I have heard of that place,' said Brakus the Gladiator. 'Even the Vars shun the area. The tribes of the White Mountains are ferocious. Some even say they eat the hearts of their enemies.'

Lia smiled. 'Then they have great need of what I will bring to them.' She walked towards the door.

'The crowd will tear you apart, lady,' said Telors. 'We will come with you.'

Lia shook her head. 'No-one will see me, and no-one will harm me. Not yet. May the Source bless you all.' With that she walked from the room, towards the distant sounds of the rioting crowd.

Bane sat very still, his mind spinning. For more than two years he had lived with but a single thought, to avenge the murder of Lia. He had trained hard, eschewing all the comforts and pleasures of youth. Not for Bane the joys of the Occian whorehouse, or the wild and boisterous gatherings organized by the circus. Invitations from beautiful women, both married and unmarried, to attend them in their private chambers had been politely refused. Each night as Bane took to his bed he saw Voltan's face, and pictured the day he would bring justice to the killer.

Now he sat in the silence of the Sword Room, staring down at the marble floor.

Rage moved to the seat beside him. 'Talk to me, boy,' he said, putting his arm round the younger man.

'It was all for nothing,' whispered Bane.

'We should leave here before the mob ransacks the place,' said Telors. 'Having lost the Veiled Lady they may turn on you, Bane. They saw you lead her from the arena.'

'Get dressed,' said Rage softly. 'We'll go back to the villa and talk. Come on.' Taking Bane's arm he drew him to his feet. Still in a daze, the young Rigante stripped off his gladiator's kilt and greaves, and pulled on black leather leggings and a tunic shirt of thick blue wool edged with silver thread. Belting his sword around his waist he started to follow Brakus, Telors and Rage out of the room. The surgeon who had been treating Rage when the Veiled Lady healed him took hold of Bane's arm.

'Which goddess is she?' he whispered.

Bane shrugged the man away and caught up with the others. They walked up into the deserted arena, and along the wide corridor to the eastern exit. The gates were open and Bane could see the huge crowd outside. Brakus moved out first, followed by Telors and Rage. The three men formed a screen ahead of Bane, but someone in the crowd yelled out: 'There he is! It's the savage who freed her!'

The crowd surged around them. Someone pushed Brakus, and his fist lashed out, sending the man spinning from his feet. Just as the scene threatened to turn ugly Rage raised both his arms in the air.

'Silence!' he bellowed. The voice was commanding, and the crowd obeyed him. Rage waited for several heartbeats for the noise to subside. 'The emperor pardoned the Veiled Lady,' he said. 'And she is gone from this place. None of us know where. Now let us pass!' Instantly he moved forward and the crowd parted for him. Brakus, Telors and Bane walked through the mob, crossed the square and hailed a passing two-horsed carriage. As Bane sat down he caught a glimpse of a woman in a pale blue gown walking through the crowd. No-one noticed her or looked in her direction. Seeing him, she waved, then crossed the avenue, and into a side street.

Half an hour later the carriage arrived at the villa. Persis Albitane and Norwin were waiting for them at the front gate. Bane, Rage and Telors stepped down from the carriage. Brakus leaned over.

'An interesting day,' said the golden-haired gladiator. Telors grinned and shook his hand. 'I'll see you both, I hope, at my birthday celebrations.' Gesturing the driver to move on Brakus settled back in his seat and the carriage trundled away.

'Good man,' said Telors to Bane. 'I'm glad you didn't have to fight him.'

Bane said nothing, and walked towards the villa. Persis tried to speak to him, but Bane eased past, and went upstairs to his room, where he stood at the window, staring out over the bay.

Rage found him there some minutes later. 'It was not for nothing,' said Rage quietly. 'Had you not been in Stone, she would have died. You have tortured yourself for two years because you did not have the strength to save her. Yet now you have.'

Bane turned from the window. 'She thanked you, my friend. And she was right. I saved her by default, because the emperor offered me a second wish. Had Voltan killed you I would have fought him, and she would have died. My need for vengeance would have killed her, and I would never have known.'

'It didn't happen, though,' Rage pointed out. 'You are a man, Bane, and a man makes choices, and lives with the consequences. I heard what she said to you about different paths. Yes, all gladiators can be criticized for those we have killed in the name of glory, or sport, or the pursuit of fame and riches. But the men we fought were also pursuing those goals, and stepped before us willingly. There was no malice on either side. You did not ask Voltan to change your life by attacking those you loved. His was the evil. Your actions since would be understood by every hero who ever walked the earth.' Rage sighed, then sat down on the bed. 'You know, I have listened to the preachings of the Cultists, and I like a lot of what they say. Indeed, I even believe in that greater power they speak of. There is no room in my heart for hatred, and – as they preach – I will offer the open hand of friendship to all those I meet. But if men broke into my house and offered harm to Cara or the servants I would cut them down without a moment's remorse. And had I been you, back in Accia, I would have crossed the world to find the man who brought death to those I loved. Now throw that weight from your shoulders, man! The girl is alive. We are all alive.'

'I thank the gods for that,' said Bane. 'With all my heart.' He looked at Rage. 'I will never forget what you did for me. It will live in my heart for ever.'

'You are not angry, then, that your vengeance was denied?'

'Angry? Oh, Rage, I could not be further from anger. When I watched you both I knew what you had been trying so hard to tell me. He – and you – are a different breed. I have never seen such focus, such power. I would have died out there. I know that with certainty. I could never be that good.'

'That's not true,' said Rage. 'You are what… nineteen? You have yet to reach the peak of your strength and power. In five or six years you will be faster and deadlier than both of us.' He laughed suddenly. 'All those young gladiators out there should rejoice that Bane is no longer one of them. Have you given thought to what you will do now? There are many merchant ventures into which you could put the riches you have made. You can become fat and lazy.'

'I'm going home, my friend,' said Bane. 'The emperor has given me two days to leave Stone.'

'So much for the gratitude of rulers, eh?' muttered Rage.

Bane shrugged. 'He is a cold man, and I should have expected no less. I'll return to Caer Druagh. I need to see the mountains, and to feel the grass under my feet. Why not come with me, show me how to run a farm?'

'Perhaps I'll visit, but Cara is to be married in four months, and I'd like to see that. I'd also like to watch a great-grandchild grow. I hope it is a boy. Girls are wonderful, but I think I need a little variety.' He rose from his seat, and drew Bane into a hug. 'You know, maybe you should find your father, and make your peace with him.'

For the first time Bane kissed Rage's cheek. Then he drew away. 'I have no father. If I could choose one it would be you.'

'That is good to hear, and I thank you for saying it. Now, before we become mawkish let's go down to the others and eat. I am famished.'

'One last thing,' said Bane. 'Will you be getting drunk tonight?'

Rage chuckled. 'Probably. I don't like to kill – even evil men like Voltan.'

Then let's drink together. We can talk about the stars and the spirits, and ramble on about the meaning of life.'

'Sounds hideous. We'll do it,' said Rage.

Snow was swirling across the plain as the young druid crouched at the foot of a standing stone, watching the wind scattering hot cinders from his tiny fire, leeching the heat away from his frozen body. Hunched against the cold stone Banouin felt the weight of failure dragging him down. Four times now in the last six months he had tried to free the ghosts of Cogden Field. But on each occasion they had ignored him and continued their senselessly ferocious battle.

The last time he had tried reasoning with the shade of Valanus, pointing out to him that Cogden was fought in bright sunlight, whereas now only the moon shone down upon the battlefield. Valanus had laughed, and gestured towards the sky. 'There is the blazing sun,' he cried. 'And the sky is blue. I have no more time for this, demon. Come, lads, one more charge and the day is ours.'

The wind died down and the shivering Banouin added dry sticks to the fading blaze. Flames licked out and he held out his hands to the fleeting warmth.

The king had allowed him this one last attempt – three weeks' leave of absence. And he had failed. Tomorrow he would have to return to Old Oaks as he had promised.

'I care for these souls,' said Connavar, 'but, in truth, I care for the living far more. The information you supply on Jasaray's troops is vital to us. No-one else has your talent, Banouin. You are the Eyes of the Rigante.'

All this was true, but the ghosts of Cogden Field were like a dagger in Banouin's soul. The land cried out to be freed of this nightly slaughter. Grass no longer grew upon the plain. Not a single weed could be seen on the dead brown earth. Banouin glanced out from behind the stone. The ghosts were still fighting, on a field of snow. Despair flowed over him.

The armies of Stone were gathering across the water, and already four Panthers – twelve thousand men – had crossed the narrow strip of sea and were camped in the lands of the Cenii. Many among the Cenii had joined the army as scouts for the campaign all knew would come in the spring – the push north into the lands of the Norvii, and then the Rigante. More battles would be fought, and more souls would continue their eternal fighting, draining the spirit from the land.

'I must find a way,' said Banouin. Brother Solstice always said that the truth had a power all its own, yet he had tried the truth on these martial spirits and they ignored it. What more can I do? he wondered.

'Morrigu!' he shouted. 'Where are you?'

There was no answer, though the wind picked up and scattered his fire. Banouin sat miserably, his sheepskin cloak tugged around him, the hood low over his face. He recalled the first time he had come to this circle of stones, with Bane. It seemed so long ago now, another time in another world. He had been heading towards his dream, and his heart had been light and full of hope.

Banouin missed Bane, and wished with all his heart that he had gone to him in Stone and asked forgiveness for deserting him. Now Bane was back in the mountains, and still he had not sought him out. He had come home rich, and had acquired land bordering the Narian Forest, twenty miles south-west of Three Streams. The land was sold cheaply, for there were many outlaw bands in the area, and the last two owners had been killed by them. Connavar had sent troops into the forest to root them out, but the area was colossal, and his men saw no-one. Many people in Three Streams had laughed when Bane bought the land, knowing that his cattle would be spirited away, his houses ransacked.

They were not laughing now. His cattle were feeding on the best grass, and not a single robber had appeared to trouble him. 'He is in league with the outlaws,' they said, and their dislike of him grew. Bane made no attempt to win them over.

Then the Sea Raiders had landed a small force near Seven Willows. Fighting men were gathered to oppose them. All men knew that Bane was a great fighter and a rider was sent to him. He told the man to leave his property. 'When the sea raiders attack my land I shall kill them,' he said. 'And I will ask no help from you.'

Dislike became open hatred then, and men talked of how he had killed Forvar and the two friends of Fiallach. 'He is a mad dog,' they said. 'He should be driven from the land.'

A delegation went to Braefar, urging him to take action. Braefar, while agreeing that Bane was a disgrace, pointed out that he paid his taxes promptly, and those taxes were used to fund Connavar's army. 'He has broken no law,' said Braefar, 'and paid weregild to the men he slew after his mother's death. However, if you wish to sell him no feed for his cattle, no supplies for his men, no shoes for his horses, that is up to you.'

This they did, and Bane was forced to send for supplies from the Pannone to the north at far greater cost. Even so, his venture thrived. When lung blight destroyed half the king's herds, and reduced many farmers to near poverty, Bane's cattle escaped the disease. People were then forced to buy from him, and his prices were high.

The saddest part of all, for Banouin, was that he knew most of the people who hated Bane were good people, with kind hearts. They were reacting to a man who wanted nothing to do with them – much as they had once reacted to Banouin. Bane no longer helped with the barn building, or attended the feast days, or joined the hunts, or trained with the militia. His every action was seen – mostly accurately – as a slight on the Rigante as a whole.

Under pressure from their families, most of the young men who worked for him had quit his service, and he now employed outsiders, Wolfsheads or runaways: men who – like Bane – wore no cloak of allegiance. Bane's cloak was black, and without adornment. Not once had he worn the chequered blue and green colours of the Rigante.

Banouin shivered. The winter cold was seeping through his boots and leggings. He stood up and stamped his feet. 'I should not hate the winter,' he thought. When it is gone war will come.

Jasaray would come from the south, and King Shard of the Vars had gathered more than three hundred ships, ready to lead an invasion in the north. The days of blood were drawing near. And here I sit, thought Banouin, worrying about the lost souls of an earlier conflict.

'Morrigu!' he shouted again.

He heard movement and stared out into the night. A horse was plodding slowly through the snow, the rider hunched in the saddle, his head hooded. The rider eased his horse into the circle of stones and flicked back his hood.

'You still don't know how to place a fire, idiot,' said Bane.

The warrior stepped down from the saddle, tethered his mount, took a large bundle of dry wood, tied with thongs, from the back of his saddle, then walked to the far side of the circle, where one of the giant stones had cracked and fallen. Swiftly he prepared a fire against the stone. Taking a burning branch from Banouin's small blaze he lit his own, which crackled into life. Shielded from the worst of the wind the fire burned hot and bright, warmth reflecting from the stone. Bane sat down, gesturing Banouin to join him.

'I would have built it here,' said Banouin, squatting down. 'But I can see the battle from this spot, and it grieves me.'

'Are they fighting now?' asked Bane.

'Yes.'

'Let me know when it is over.'

'Why?'

'I will help you release their souls.'

'You are not a mystic. How can you help me?'

'You never did know how to talk to fighting men,' said Bane. 'I do.'

The Morrigu sent you, didn't she?'

'No. Your mother came to my farm. Asked me to help you.' He looked directly into Banouin's eyes. 'Vorna has always been a friend to me. I help my friends where I can.'

Banouin looked away. 'I am sorry about what happened in Accia,' he said.

'Pah, it is in the past. Forgotten.'

'Is that true?' asked Banouin, hope flaring.

'Of course it is not true,' snapped Bane. 'I was trying to be polite. Now tell me about this battle of souls.'

'What is there to tell? They fight eternally the battle of Cogden Field, not knowing that it is over and gone. Their spirits are trapped here, caught in a web of hatred and violence. I have tried talking to Valanus. He hears me, but does not believe what I tell him.'

'And why is it important to you that he does believe?' asked Bane.

'It is the land, Bane. It suffers as they suffer. All life is being drained from this place, like a stain that grows and grows. There must be an end to it. The dead must know peace.'

'Why should they be any different from the living?' asked Bane. 'When do we ever know peace?'

'You still sound bitter.'

Bane laughed, with genuine good humour. 'Ah, you misread me. I am no longer the man you once knew. I found a friend in Stone, a great friend, a man who risked his life for me. That changed me. I am more content now. I care nothing for Connavar and his rejection of me, nor for the dislike of my fellow Rigante. I live my own life, answerable to no man.'

'Like a leaf in the breeze,' said Banouin. 'The Rigante are your people.'

Bane shook his head. 'My people are the twenty men who work for me. And the friends who have stood by me: Vorna, Rage and Telors. The rest of you can rot and die. How is the battle faring?'

Banouin glanced back and shuddered. 'It is at its height. It will go on like this for an hour or more, then start again.' Bane added more sticks to the blaze. Banouin watched him. His hair was still long, a tight yellow braid hanging from his temple, but he had grown a golden beard now, trimmed close to the chin. He seemed larger across the shoulder.

'Mother told me that Lia was alive, and that you rescued her,' he said.

'Aye, I rescued her.'

'I am glad.'

'Well, that is good to hear.'

'Please don't hate me, Bane. What I did was cowardly and wrong, but I am trying to make amends with my life.'

'Druid's robes suit you,' said Bane. 'Men say you are a great healer and a prophet. I am pleased for you. And I do not hate you. I have no feelings for you at all, neither hatred nor love. You are just a man I know.'

'But we were friends once, weren't we?'

'I don't think that we were. Anyway, it is immaterial now. How is the king? I understand there was yet another attempt on his life.'

'Yes. Two Pannone attacked him while he was hunting. Killed his horse and wounded him. The wound was not deep and I healed it.'

'One cannot blame the Pannone,' said Bane. 'They didn't ask to be overrun by the Rigante.'

'Most Pannone believe in the king,' said Banouin. 'As do most Norvii and the other smaller tribes now under his banner. But there will always be those who yearn for the old days.'

Bane laughed. 'By the old days you mean the time when they were free to make their own decisions, and not pay taxes to a foreign king?'

'He is not a foreign king,' said Banouin. 'He is a Keltoi, fighting to preserve our ancient way of life in the face of a terrible threat.'

Bane shook his head. 'Does it not seem strange to you that the act of protecting that way of life is altering it beyond recognition? Citizens of Stone pay taxes. The Keltoi never did. The Rigante, Pannone and Norvii crossed the water centuries ago to find a land where there would be no kings. They thrived as free peoples. There were no armies. When enemies threatened every man took up arms to defend the land. There were no tax gatherers, no clerics, and a few simple laws. What freedoms do we have now? If I was to hold this conversation in Three Streams I would be arrested as a malcontent.'

'Without the unity forged by Connavar this entire land would be under the godless rule of Stone,' said Banouin.

'As it probably will be one day anyway,' said Bane.

'Not as long as Connavar lives.'

'Then may he live long,' said Bane.

The two men lapsed into silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The snow began again, heavy and fast, large flakes spluttering on the campfire. Bane lifted his hood back into place, and leaned back against the fallen stone. Banouin fed the fire, and occasionally glanced back at the silent battle. It was nearing its end. He nudged Bane, who came instantly awake. 'Give me your hand,' he said, lying down next to Bane.

'Why?'

'If you are to help me with the ghosts, you must be as a ghost. Give me your hand and I will draw your spirit from your body.'

Bane did so, and felt a cold rush of air sweep over him, as if he had dived into a winter lake. He shuddered, and rose to stand naked alongside the spirit of Banouin.

'How do you wish to be clothed?' asked Banouin, who was apparently wearing a pure white druid's robe.

'Can it be anything?' asked Bane.

'Anything.'

'Then dress me as a Stone officer, with gilded breastplate and helm.' Even as he spoke he felt the armour settle upon him, a bronze reinforced kilt appeared around his waist, and two bronze greaves nestled against his calves.

'Where is the sword?' asked Bane.

'You think you'll need one?' countered Banouin.

The two ghostly armies began to form on opposite hilltops as Bane and Banouin strode out across the Field. Bane glanced down. His booted feet made no marks upon the snow, and he could feel no hint of the winter winds. The two spirits made their way towards the silent Stone ranks, which shimmered in the moonlight. Bane stared in wonder at the soldiers before him. They seemed to have been carved from mist, translucent in the moonlight. The sounds of faraway commands came to them.

'Panther Three form up. Rank Seven at the beat!'

A drum sounded, its slow ponderous beat echoing across the field. Bane saw the troops shuffling into formation in ranks of seven. He and Banouin continued to walk up the hill. The spirits of the Stone soldiers ignored them, continuing their battle preparations.

As Bane came within thirty feet of the first line he halted. Then he cried out in a loud voice: 'Appius, where are you?'

Now the spirits noticed him, and he felt their cold stares upon him. 'Appius!' he called again. Then: 'Oranus, where are you? Speak to me, Oranus!'

The first line parted and an officer stepped from it. He was tall and handsome, his breastplate intricately engraved, as were his greaves, helm and wrist guards.

'It is Valanus,' whispered Banouin.

'Appius!' yelled Bane again.

'Who are you?' demanded the officer, coming closer, sword in hand.

'I am Bane, son of Connavar the King.'

'Nonsense! I know Connavar. He is a young man, little older than you.'

'Appius!' shouted Bane.

'He is not here!' snarled Valanus. 'Now tell me what you want and why you are dressed in the armour of Stone. Speak or I will cut you down.'

'Why is Appius not here?' demanded Bane. 'Is this not Cogden Field? Is Appius not your second in command?'

Valanus stood very still, confusion in his face. 'He is gone,' he said at last.

'Gone?' echoed Bane. 'How can he be gone? The battle is not yet started.'

'He is gone, damn you! What do you want?'

'The Rigante are charging!' hissed Banouin.

Bane ignored him and kept his gaze locked to Valanus. 'Then where is Oranus?' he said. 'Is he not your aide? Where is Oranus?'

'What trick is this?' shouted Valanus.

'It is no trick,' Bane told him. He glanced at Banouin. 'Dress me as a Rigante warrior,' he said. 'Quickly now!'

Instantly the armour of Stone disappeared, replaced by a swirling pale blue and green chequered cloak, and a shining mailshirt.

Swinging on his heel Bane waited until the advancing Rigante were close. 'Connavar!' he shouted. 'Let Connavar show his face!' The charge slowed. 'Fiallach! Where are you? Bendegit Bran, let us see you! Govannan, come forth!' Bane walked to meet the advancing men, still calling out the names of their generals. The spirits slowed to a walk, then began glancing nervously around. A Rigante noble pushed his way to the front of the line.

'Why do you call for Connavar?' he asked. 'Are you an agent of the enemy? Do they seek a truce?'

'Where is Connavar?' asked Bane.

The man hesitated, then looked around, scanning the ghostly ranks. 'He is not with us,' said the officer.

'How can that be?' Bane asked him. 'This is Cogden Field. It was here that Connavar the King won his greatest victory. Fiallach rode with him, as did Bendegit Bran and Govannan.' Bane looked into the man's face. He was not young. His hair was thinning and his features showed the deep lines of his advancing years. 'Maccus also rode with them,' said Bane, remembering the stories. 'Maccus who was more than sixty, and who led a charge that broke the left wing.'

'I am Maccus. I remember that charge.'

'It was a moment of great glory,' said Bane. 'So why are you here now?'

'Here…? I am here to fight the enemy.'

'Why do you fight without Connavar? Without Fiallach and the others?'

'I do not know. But I do know the enemy is before us.'

The spirit of Valanus advanced to stand alongside Bane. 'What is happening here?'

'One more charge, lads. One more charge and the day is ours,' said Banouin softly.

Valanus looked as if he had been struck. He swung on the young druid. 'Why do you say that? Why those words?'

'Were they not the words you used before that last, courageous assault?'

'Yes… no. The battle is not yet fought.'

'Look around you, soldier,' said Bane. 'Here is Maccus, who died leading a charge against your wing. A spear tore open his throat.' He swung on the elderly Rigante. 'You remember that spear, Lord Maccus?'

'I remember.'

'If a spear tore open your throat on Cogden Field, why are you still here?'

'I… I do not know.'

Banouin stepped in close to the Rigante general. 'Someone is waiting for you, Lord Maccus. She has waited a long time. All men know the story of your love for your wife. When she died you were bereft. She waits for you now – in a far better place than this.'

'Then… I am… dead?' said Maccus. 'The spear was not a dream? I remember lying on the ground, unable to breathe. I remember…' His spirit faded from sight.

'We are not dead!' screamed Valanus. 'This is a Rigante trick.'

'You are all the dead of Cogden Field,' cried Banouin. 'And you have fought this battle a thousand times since. You are shades, ghosts, spirits. That is why Connavar and Appius are not here. They lived beyond the battle. Think! All of you, think! Remember the day, the awful slaughter. Remember how you died!'

Valanus backed away. 'I cannot lose again,' he said. 'I am a Stone general. We do not lose. I will fight on. I will have victory.' One by one the shades of the Rigante faded away. Valanus ran at them, waving his sword. 'It is not over!' he screamed. 'Come back, you cowards! Come back and fight!'

Banouin began to cry out towards the milling soldiers of Stone, speaking this time in Turgon. 'Be at peace, soldiers!' he shouted. 'You died valiantly, but you do not have to die again and again. Let this be an end. Move on from here. Seek out the better place that awaits you!'

Valanus swung and saw his own force vanishing. 'Soldiers of Stone!' he called out. 'Hold your ground. One more charge… one more…' His voice faded away.

And he stood alone.

Bane approached him. 'You fought bravely, Valanus. Your name is known through all the world. Go now and find peace.'

'I am not dead!' screamed Valanus. 'This is Rigante magic! My men will come back! Get away from me. I shall wait for my men!' He spun on his heel and ran, his fleeing form lost in the swirling snow.

Bane awoke back in the stone circle. Banouin added fuel to the dying fire. Bane sat up, and began to rub life into his cold hands.

'I had not thought of crying out for the living,' said Banouin. 'That was clever. I thank you.'

'It was nothing,' said Bane, rising to his feet and moving towards his horse.

'Are you leaving now?' asked Banouin.

'Of course. I did what I came for.'

Banouin stood miserably by as Bane saddled the gelding. 'Will you ever forgive me?' he asked.

Bane sighed. 'I forgive you, Banouin. That is no lie. I wish you well.'

'But you cannot forget what I did? Put it aside.'

'No, I cannot forget.' Bane stepped into the saddle, swung his mount, and rode from the circle.